


Manly Things

by themissinglenk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin
Genre: M/M, domesticated boy toys, levi being sneaky, manry men, the definitions of manliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themissinglenk/pseuds/themissinglenk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erwin doing manly things majorly turned Levi on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manly Things

“I got a flat.”

Erwin doing manly things majorly turned Levi on.

It sounded grossly typical. But it wasn’t the manliness that got to him—no, not the shimmer of sweat or the flex of muscles, the way his gray V-neck moved with the lines of his hard upper body. No, it was the oil stains on his fingers and the way his hair came all undone, sloppy, and the way his jeans flirted with the waistband of his boxer briefs when he crouched down to wrestle with a tire iron, and the fact that he had no fucking idea what he was doing that got Levi going.

Watching, from the living room window. Sometimes the front porch, leaning against the stoop post with one hand in his pocket and a hip cocked to the side. Smoking a cigarette. Nursing a beer. Watching, critically, deadpanned in preparation for Erwin’s glance of approval. Because Erwin was the type to have other people take care of those things. He was always willing to try, but he was a failure of a macho man. He was more romance novel cover than grease-monkey.

And that vulnerability made Levi _hot_.

He used to. He used to be that type. The crack-open-a-beer and stand shower-fresh in unbuttoned jeans and a wife-beater type. The hoist Levi up practically in one arm and throw him down on the bed like all the worst most unrealistic clichés pretended actually happened type. The Super Bowl party and darts at a local dive type, denim jacket and peach fuzz stubble and un-gelled cowlick.

But he was domesticated now.

Cable-knit sweaters and expensive European shoes domesticated. Appointment book and hired maid domesticated. Match the bedding with the curtains domesticated, fill the black walnut curio cabinets with chic little trinkets and candles and boast about your wine cellar domesticated. Working out at the gym in name-brand sweats, step counters and an mp3 player strapped to his bicep domesticated. Employed in a downtown skyscraper, looking damn good in a loosened tie and suit pants, planning on buying an Audi domesticated.

There was something defenseless and pitiable about it, the transition. Not like a downgrade, or even an upgrade, but just a subtle and natural character shift from young adulthood to the prime of life. Proof that the definition of being a man was flexible—or, rather, multifaceted. That on one end of the spectrum, knowing how to fiddle around under the hood of Levi’s car was the pinnacle of manly, and on the other end of the spectrum, being a wealthy successful clean-nailed combed-hair city-slicker who let the people at the shop take care of his automobile problems was just as ripe with machismo and virile power. Mm, high fashion cologne. Probably infused with some aphrodisiac. Better have some aphrodisiac because it cost a firstborn.

“Hey, will you check my oil level, too?”

“What do I look like, Mike’s Auto?”

His ass hadn’t changed, however, and did that man have an ass.

Levi cut his own tire at the corner, anyway.

Slashed it and rattled his way up to Erwin’s driveway looking thoroughly infuriated with the world at large, screaming, “Fucking all I needed, I can’t change my own tire, hey Handsome, do you have a fucking jack?”

It was a dirty little trick.

But they’d both been very busy lately, no time even for quickies, so lying to get some ogling in wasn’t really that shameful. Was it? Nah.

“Thank you.”

“It looks like you ran over glass, it wasn’t even a puncture.”

Levi slid a sidelong glance at him, slowly raising his brows. How cute, he was trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about still. “Huh. Weird.”

It wasn’t even about basking in Erwin’s adorable failure, reveling in his humiliation and ineptitude. It wasn’t about feeling superior, either. It was the simple sweet enjoyment of Erwin trying, and trying for _him_.

And knowing that the moment he was done, Levi would scoff and sigh and drag Erwin into the kitchen to clean his hands off for him at the sink. Because Erwin couldn’t touch his neck tenderly until the grease was off his knuckles. Couldn’t grunt in surprise and back against the counter as Levi practically pounced on him—not until he was cleaned up. Smelling like sweat and Armani cologne and the sunshine he’d soaked up in the driveway, body hot and a little sticky—

So big. So big everywhere, bulging, hard, ripped. Crushing him to his broad chest so Levi could crane up and kiss his lovely chin, clawing under his sweaty shirt. And maybe it was sort of the irony, that a man could be so motherfucking hunky, built like a god for Christ’s sake, so charming, so wonderful, and yet so…ham-fisted at basic manly deeds—maybe that was what really got Levi horny.

The contrast. The evolution. The apposition. Because irony and black humor were some of his favorites, the simple magic of mundane miracles and tragedies. Like that sexy belly button. The blond happy trail. The lines of muscle along the ribs, the velvety skin around a hardening nipple. Waxed. _Domesticated_. Thick. Hot. Fuck me fuck me, pulverize me right here on the kitchen floor—

“Levi.”

“Hmm…”

“You cut your own tire, didn’t you?”

Levi hid a guilty grin against his shoulder and wrenched his way out of Erwin’s arms, away from the post-sex glimmer and lazy glory. Sweaty. Undone. Trembling. Sore inside, so lusciously sore inside. Don’t look at the limp, don’t laugh, you’ll regret it if you laugh. Off to the shower, neck aching from the rough hickeys. Dazed blue eyes watching from the slate tile in the kitchen where Erwin still laid with his arms behind his head, pants unbuttoned and yanked down but junk tucked away again. How manly was _that_ one? Mm.

He really loved it when Erwin did manly things.


End file.
